PR 4821 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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^UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. J 



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OOP y RIGHTED 1879. iKTOo "7- - : 

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FITCH'S POPULAR LIBRARY. 



THE 



FALSE ONE, 



-ASD- 



BY MRS. JAMESON. 



GEORGE W. FITCH, PUBLISHEK, 
60 Andrews St., Kochester, X. Y. 

1S79. 



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V- - 



THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER, 



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Price lO Cents. 

The New York News Company, Wholesale Agents, 



TSS-ETW "sroaFnt- 



THE FALSE ONE, 



— AND— 



THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER, 



BY MRs" JAMESON. 



;^^*5,^^^. 



1881 






ROCHESTER, N. Y.: 

Gp;o. w. FITCH, rrrsLisiiKR, GO Andrews st. 

1879. 



1>^ 






THE FALSE ONE. 



And give you. luix'd with westt-ru aentiiuentJilism, 
Some samples of the finest orieutalism. 

Lord Btron. 

Akbae, the most eiiligbteued auil re- 
nowned among the sovereigns of the East, 
reigned over all those vast territories, 
wliich extend from the Indus to the Gan- 
ges, and fnmi the snowy niouutaius of the 
north to tlie kingdoms of Guzerat and Cau- 
(h'ish on the south. After having subdued 
the factions omrahs, and the hereditary en- 
emies of his family, and made tributary to 
his power most of the neighbouring king- 
doms, there occurred a short period of pro- 
found jieace. .\ssistt'd by able nunisters, 
Akbar employed this interval in alleviating 
the miseries, which half a century of war 
and ravage had called down upon this 
beautiful but ever wretched country. Com- 
merce was relieved from the heavy imposts, 
which had hitherto clogged its progress ; 
the revenues of the empire were improved 
and regulated ; by a particular decree, the 
cultivators of the earth were exempted 
from serving in the imperial armies ; and 
justice was everywhere imi)artially admin- 
istered ; temi)ercd, however, with that ex- 
treme clemency, whicli in the early part of 
his reign, Akbar carried t(jan excess almost 
injurious to his interests. India, so long 
exposed to the desolating inroads of invad- 
ers, and torn by internal factions, began, 
at length, to " wear lier plumed and jew- 
elled turban with a smile of peace ;" and 
all the various nations united under his 
sway — the warlike Afghans, the proud Mo- 
guls, the gentle-siiirited Hindoos, with one 
voice blessed the wise and humane govern- 



ment of the son of Baber, and unanimously 
bestowed upon him the titles of Akbak, or 
the GKE.vr, and Juggut Grow, or Guaedi- 
AN of Maxkxni). 

Meantime the happiness, which he had 
difinsed among millions, seemed to have 
tied from the bosom of the sovereign. Cares 
far different from those of war, deeper than 
those of love, (for the love of eastern mon- 
arclis is seldom shadowed by anxiety,) jios- 
sesscfl his thoughtful soul. He had been 
brought np in the strictest forms of the 
Mohammedan religion, and he meditated 
upon the text, wdiich enjoins the extermin- 
ation of all who rejected his prophet, till 
his conscience became like a troubled lake. 
He reflected that in his vast dominions 
there were at least fifteen different relig- 
ions, which were subdivided into about 
three hundred and fifty sects ; to extirpate 
thousands and tens of thousands of his 
unoffending subjects, and pile up pyra- 
mids of human heads in honor of God and 
: his prophet, as his predecessors Lad done 
before him, was, to his mild nature, not 
i only abhorrent, but imjiossible. Yet as 
his power had never met with any obsta- 
cle, which force or address bad not sub- 
dued before him, the idea of bringing this 
vast multitude to agree in one system of 
belief and worshi]) a2)peai'ed to him not 
I utterly hoi>eless. 

He consulted, after long reflection, his 

favourite and secretary, Abul Fazil, the 

: celebrated historian, of whom it was pro- 

! verbially said, that " the monarchs of the 

' East feared more the pen of Abul Fazil 

than the sword of Akbar. " The acute mind 



THE FALSE ONE. 



of that great man saw instantly the \vil<l 
impracticability of such a scheme ; but 
willing to prove it to his master without 
absolutely contradicting his cherished and 
favoitrite schemes, he jjroposed, as a pve- 
paratory step, that the names of the vari- 
ous sects of religion known to exist in the 
sultan's dominions should be registered, 
and the tenets of their belief contained in 
their books of law, or promulgated by 
their priests, should be reviewed and eom- 
l^ared, thence it would appear how far it was 
possible to reconcile them one with another 
This suggestion pleased the great king ; 
and there went forth a decree from the im- 
perial throne, commanding that all the 
religions and sects of religion to be found 
within the Vioundaries of the empire should 
send deputies, on a certain day, to the sul- 
tan, to deliver up their books of law, to 
declare openly the doctrines of their faith, 
and be registered by name in a volume 
kepi for this purpose — whether they were 
followers of Jesias, of Moses, or of Moham- 
med ; whether they worhipped God in the 
sun, in the fire, in the image, or in the 
stream ; liy written law or traditional prac- 
tice ; true believer ur pagan infidel, none 
were excepted. The imperial mandate was 
couched in such absolute, as well as allur- 
ing terms, that it became as impossible as 
impolitic to evade it ; it was therefore the 
interest of every particular sect, to repre- 
sent in the most favourable light the mode 
of faith professed Ijy each. Some thought 
to gain favour by the magiiiiiceuce of their 
gifts ; other.", by the siilendour of their 
processions. Some rested their hopes on 
the wisdom and venerable appearance of 
the deputies they selected to represent 
them ; and others, (they were but few,) 
strong in their faith and spiritual pride, 
deemed all such aids unnecessary, and 
trusted in the truth of the doctrines they 
professed, which they only waited an op- 
])urtunity to assert, secure that they need- 
ed only to be heard, to convert all who 
had ears to hear. 



On the aj^iiJointed day, an immense mul- 
titude had assembled from all the quarters 
of the emjjire, and pressed through the 
gates of Agra, then the capital and resi- 
dence of the monarch. The i)rinci]ial dur- 
bar, or largest audience-court of the pal- 
ace, was thrown open on this occasion. 
At the upper end w as placed the throne of 
Akbar. It was a raised platform, from 
which sprung twelve twisted pillars of 
massy gold, all radiant with innumerable 
gems, supporting the golden canopy, over 
which waved the white umbrella, the in- 
signia of jjower ; the cushions upon which 
the emperor reclined, were of cloth of gold, 
incrusted with rubies and emeralds ; six 
jjages, of exquisite beauty, bearing fans of 
peacocks' feathers, were alone permitted 
to a2iproach within the silver balustrade, 
which surrounded the seat of power. On 
one side stood the vizir Chan Azim, bold 
and erect of look, as became a warrior, and 
Abul Fazil, with his tablets in his hand, 
and his eyes modestly cast down ; next to 
him stood Dominico Cuen^-a, the Portu- 
guese missionary, and two friars of his or- 
der, who had come from Goa by the ex- 
press command of the sultan: on the other 
side, the muftis and doctors of the law. 
Ai'ound were the great omrahs, the gener- 
als, governors, tributary princes, and am- 
bassadors. The ground was spread with 
Persian carpets of a thousand beautiful 
tints, sprinkled with rose-water, and softer 
beneath the feet than the velvety durva 
grass ; and the clouds of incense, amber- 
griss, and myrrh, filled the air. The gor- 
geous traijpings of eastern splendour, the 
waving of standards, the glittering of war- 
like weapons, the sparkling of jewelled 
robes, formerl a scene, almost sublime in 
its prodigal and lavish magnificence, such 
as only an oriental court could show. 

Seven days did the royal Akbar receive 
and entertain the religious deputies ; every 
day a hundred thousand strangers feasted 
at his expense ; and every night the gifts 
he had receiveil during the day. or the 



THE FALSE ONE. 



value of them, were distributed iu alms to 
tlie vast multitude, without any regard to 
difference of belief. Seven davs did the 
royal Alibar sit on his musnnd, and listen 
gracionsly to all who appeared before him. 
Many were the words spoken, and marvel- 
lous was the wisdom uttered ; sublinxe 
-nere the doctrines professed, and pure 
the UKjrality they enjoined ; but tlie more 
the royal Akbar heard, the more was his 
great mind perplexed ; the last who sjioke 
seemed ever iu the right, till tin' next wlio 
ajipeared turned all to doubt again. H(^ 
V, as amazed, and said within himself, like 
th<' judge of old, '-W/Kit i.i tnilh?" 

It was observed, that the many dissent- 
ing or heterodox sects of the Jlohanimedan 
rc^ligion excited infinitely more indigna- 
tion among the orthodox muftis, than the 
worst among the pagan idolaters. Their 
hearts burned within them through impa- 
tience and wrath, and they would almost 
have died on the spot for the privilege of 
I'onfu ting those blasphemers, who rejected 
Abu Becker ; who maintained, with Aim 
Zail, that blue was holier than green ; or 
w itli !Mozar, that a sinner was worse than 
an infidel ; or believed with the Morgians, 
that in ])aradise (iod is beheld only with 
the eyes ot our understanding ; or with the 
Kharejites, that a piince who abuses his 
power may be deposed without sin. But 
the sultan had forbidden all argument in 
his presence, and they were constrained to 
keep silence, though it was jiain and grief 
to them. 

The Heiks from Lahore, then a new sect, 
and since a jiowerful nation, with their 
light olive complexions, their rich turbans 
and robes all of Vilue, their noble features 
and free undaunted deportment, struck 
the whole assembly with res])ect, au<l were 
receive<l with peculiar favour by the sul- 
tan. So also were the Ala-ilahiyahs, whose 
iloctrines was a strange comijound of the 
Christian, the Mohammedan, and the Pa- 
gan creeds ; but the Sactas, or Ejiicureans 
of India, met with a far difl'ereut reception. 



This sect, which iu secret professed the 
most profane and detestable opinions, en- 
deavoured to obtain favour by the splen- 
did oli'erings they laid at the foot of the 
throne, and the graceful and seducing elo- 
quence of their jn-incipal spealcer. It was, 
however, in vain, that he threw over the 
tenets of his religion, as isublicly acknowl- 
edged, the flimsy disguise of rhetoric and 
poetry ; that he endeavoured to jjrove, that 
all hapjiiness consisted in enjoying the 
world's goods and all virtue in mere abstain- 
ing from evil ; that death is an eternal 
sleep ; and therefore to reject the pleasures 
of this life, in any shape, the extreme of 
follv ; while at every jjause of his oration, 
voices of the sweetest melody chorussed 
the famous burden : — 

"May the hand uover shako which gathfTil the i^rapeH ! 
May the foot never slip which press d them I" 

Ackbar commanded the Sactas from his 
ju'esence, amid the murmurs and execra- 
tiou.s of all parties ; and though they were 
jirotected for the jiresent by the royal pass- 
liort, they were subsequently banished be- 
yond the frontiers of Casbmei'e. 

The tire-worshii'pers, from Guzerat, pre- 
sented the books of tiieir famous teacher, 
Zoroaster ; to them succeeded the Jainas, 
the Buddhists, and many more, innumer- 
able as the leaves upon the banyan-tree — 
countless as the stars at midnight. 

Last of all came the deputies of the 
Brahmans. On their approach there was 
a hushed silence, and then arose a sup- 
pressed murmur of amazement, curiosity, 
and admirati(ju. It is well known with 
what impenetrable secrecy the Brahmans 
guard the pecidiar mysteries of their re- 
ligion. In tlie reigns of Alibar's predeces- 
sors, and during the first invasions of the 
Moguls, many had suffered martyrdom in 
the most horrid forms, rather than suffer 
their sanctuaries to be violated, or disclose 
the contents of their Vedas or sacred books. 
Loss of caste, excommunication in this 
world, and eternal perdition in the next, 



THE FALSE ONE. 



were the punishments awarded to those, 
who should bi-eak this fundamental law of 
the Brahminic faith. The mystery was at 
length to be un\eiled ; the doubts and con- 
jectures, to which this pertinacious con- 
cealment gave rise, were now to be ended 
forever. The learned doctors and muftis 
bent forward with an attentive and eager 
look — Abul FazU raised his small, bright, 
piercing eyes, while a smile of dubious 
import passed over his countenance — the 
Portuguese monk drew back liis cowl, and 
the calm and scornful expression of his 
fine features changed to one of awakened 
curiosity and interest ; even Akbar raised 
himself from his jewelled couch as the 
dejiuties of the Bralimaus apjiroaclied. A 
single delegate had been chosen from the 
twelve 2->rineipal temples and seats of learn- 
ing, and they were attended by forty aged 
men, selected from the three inferior castes, 
to reijresent the mass of the Indian jxipu- 
lation — warriors, merchants, and husband- 
men. At the liead of this majestic proces- 
sion was the Brahman Sarma, the high 
priest, and principal Oonrno or teacher of 
theology at Benares. This singular and 
venerable man had passed several years 
of his life in the court of the sultan Baber ; 
and the dignity and austerity, that became 
his age and high functions, were l)lended 
with a certain grace and ease in his deport- 
ment, which distinguished him above the 
rest. 

When the sage Sarma had pronounced 
the visual benedictiou, "May the king 
be victorious !" Akbar inclined bis head 
with reverence. ' 'Wise and virtuous Brah- 
mans !" he said, " our court derives honor 
from your illustrious iDresence. Next to 
the true faith taught by our holy Prophet, 
the doctrines of Brahma exceed all others 
in wisdom and purity, even as the priests 
of Brahma excel in virtue and knowledge 
the wisest of the earth ; disclose, tlierefore, 
your sacred Sastras, that we may inliale 
from them, as from the roses of paradise. 



the precious fragrance of truth and of 
knowledge !" 

The Brahman rejiliod, in the soft and 
musical tones of his people, "O king of 
the world ! we are not come before the 
throne of power to betray the faith of our 
fathers, but to die for it, if such be the will 
of the sultan !" Saying these words, he 
and his companions jjrostrated themselves 
ujwn the earth, and, taking off their tur- 
bans, flung them down before them ; then, 
while the rest continued with their fore- 
heads bowed to the ground, Sarma arose, 
and stood upright before the throne. No 
words can describe the amazement of Ak- 
bar. He shrunk back and .struck his hands 
together ; then he frowned, and twisted his 
small and beautifully curled mustacliios : 
"The sons of Brahma mock us !" said he 
at length ; " is it thus our imperial decrees 
are obeyed ?" 

"The laws of our faith are immutable," 
replied the old man, calmly, "and tlie 
contents of the Vedas were jireordained 
from the beginning of time to be revealed 
to the TWICE-BOEN aloue. It is suiHcient; 
that therein are to be found the essence of 
all wisdom, the princijiles of all vir-tue, 
and the means of acquiring immortality." 

" Doubtless, tlie sons of Brahma are pre- 
eminently wise," said Akbar, sarcastically; 
"but are the followers of the Prophet ac- 
counted as fools in their eyes ? The sons 
of Brahma are excellently virtuous, but 
are all the rest of mankind vicious ? Has 
the most high God confined the knowledge 
of his attributes to the Brahmins alone, 
and hidden his face from the rest of his 
creatures ? Where, then, is his justice ? 
where his all-embracing mercy ?" 

The Brahman, folding his arms, replied: 
" It is written. Heaven is a palace ■« itli 
many doors, and every man shall enter by 
his own way. It is not given to mortals 
to examine or arraign the decrees of the 
Deity, but to hear and to obey. Let tlie 
will of the sultan be accomplished in all 



THE FALSE OXE. 



things else. In this let the God of all the 
earth juilge between the king antl his serv- 
ants." 

" Xow, by the head of our Prophet! 
shall we be braved on our throne by these 
insolent and contumacious priests ? Tor- 
ttires shall force the seal from those lips !" 

"Not so," said the old Brahman, draw- 
ing himself up with a look of inexpressible 
dignity. "It is in the jjower of the Great 
King to deal with his .slaves as seemeth 
good to him ; but fortitude is the courage 
of the weak ; aud the twice-born sons of 
Brahma can suffer more in the cause of 
truth, than even the wrath of Akbar can 
intlict. " 

At these words, which expressed at once 
submission aud defiance, a general mur- 
mur arose in the assembly. The dense 
crowd became agitated as the waves of tlie 
Ganges just before the rising of the hurri- 
cane. Some Oldened their eyes wide with 
amazement at such audacity, some frown- 
ed with indignation, some looked on with 
contempt, others with pity. All awaited 
in fearful expectation, till the fury of the 
sultan sliould burst forth aud consume 
these presumptuous offenders. But ..Akl.ar 
remained silent, and for some time jilayed 
with the liilt of his poniard, half unsheath- 
ing it, and then forcing it back with an 
angry gesture. At length he motioned to 
his secretary to approach ; and Abul Fazil, 
kneeling upon the silver slejis of the throne, 
received the sultan's commands. After a 
conference of some length, inaudible to the 
attendants around, Abul Fazil came for- 
ward, and announced the ■\\ ill of the sul- 
tan, that the durbar should be presently 
broken up. The deputies were severally 
dismissed with rich presents ; all, e.xcept 
the Brahmans, who were commanded to 
remain in the quarter assigned to them 
during the royal pleasure, aud a strong 
guard was i.daced over them. 

Jleantime Ali.bar withdrew to the pri- 
vate ajiartments of his palace, where he 
remained for three days inaccessible to all, 



except his secretary Abul Fazil, aud the 
Christian mouk. On the fourth day he 
sent for the high jiriest of Benares, and 
successively for the rest of the Brahmans, 
his companions ; but it was in vain he 
tried threats and temptations, and all his 
arts of argument and persuasion. They 
remained calmly and passively immovable. 
Tue sultan at length pardoned and dis- 
missed them with many expressions of 
courtesy aud admiration. The Brahman 
Sarma was distinguished among the rest 
by gifts of peculiar value aud magnificence, 
and to him Akbar made a voluntary jirom- 
ise, that, during his reign, the cruel tax, 
called the Kerea, which had hitherto been 
levied ujiou the poor Indians whenever 
they met to celebrate any of their religious 
festivals, should be abolished. 

But all these professions were hollow 
and insidious. Akbar was not a character 
to be thus baffled ; and assisted by the wily 
wit of Abul Fazil, and fche bold intriguing 
mouk, he had devised a secret and subtle 
expedient, which should at once gratify his 
curiosity, aud avenge his insulted power. 

Abul Fazil had an only brother, many 
years younger than himself, whom he had 
adojjted as his son, and loved with extreme 
tenderness. He had intended him to tread, 
like himself, the intricate iJatli of state pol- 
icy ; and with this view he had been care- 
fully educated in all the learning of the 
East, and had made the most astonish- 
ing progress in every branch of science. 
Though scarcely past his lioyhood, he had 
already been initii-ted into the intrigues of 
the court ; above all. he had been brought 
up in sentiments of the most profound 
veneration and submission for the monarch 
he was destined to serve. In some respects 
Faizi resembled his brother ; he possessed 
the same versatility of talents, the same 
acuteness of mind, the same predilection 
for literary and sedentary pursuits, the 
same insinuating melody of voice aud flu- 
ent grace of sjieech ; but his aniliition was 
of a nobhr ca^t, aud though his moral i>ev- 



8 



THE r.\IiSE ONE. 



ceptions liad been somewliat blunted by a 
too early acquaintance with court diplo- 
macy, and an efleniinate, thotigli learned 
edxication, Ids mind and talents were de- 
cidedly of a liigber order. Ho also excell- 
ed Abul Eazil in the grace of his person, 
having inherited from his mother (a Hin- 
doo slave of surpassing loveliness) a figure 
of exquisite grace and symmetry, and fea- 
tures of most faultless and noble beauty. 

Tluis fitted by nature and prepared by 
art for the part lie was to perform, this 
youth -was secretly sent to Allahabad, 
where the deputies of the Brahmans rested 
for some days on their return to the Sacred 
City. Here Abnl Fazil, with great appear- 
ance of mystery and circumspection, intro- 
duced himself to the chief priest, Sarma, 
and presented to him his youthful brother 
as the orphan son of the Brahman Mitra, 
a celebrated teacher of astronomy in the 
court of the late sultan. Abul Eazil had 
artfully prepared 'such documents, as left 
no doubt of the truth of his story. His 
pupil in treachery played his part to ad- 
miration, and the deception was complete 
and successful. 

" It was the will of the Great King," 
said the wily Abul Fazil, "that this fair 
youth should be brought up in his palace, 
and converted to the Moslem faith ; but, 
bound by vows to a dying friend, I have 
for fourteen years eluded the command of 
the sultan, and in placing him binder thy 
protection, O most venei'able Sarma ! I 
have at length discharged my conscience, 
and fulfilled the last wishes of the Brah- 
man Mitra. Peace be with him ! If it 
seem good in thy sight, let this remain for 
ever a secret between me and thee. I have 
successfully thrown dust in the eyes of the 
sultan, and caused it to be reijorted that 
the youth is dead of a sudden and griev- 
ous disease. Shoidd he discover, that he 
has been deceived by his slave ; should 
the truth reach his mighty ears, the head 
of Abul Eazil would assuredly pay the for- 
feit of his disobedience." 



The old Brahman replied with many ex- 
pressions of gratitude and inviolable dis- 
cretion ; and, wholly unsuspicious of the 
cruel artifice, received the youth with joy. 
He carried him to Benares, where some 
months afterwards he publicly adopted 
him as his son, and gave him the name of 
Govinda, "the Beloved," one of the titles 
under which the Indian women adore 
their beautiful and favourite idol, the god 
Cri.shna. 

Govinda, so we must now call him, was 
set to study the sacred language, and the 
theology of the Brahmans as it is revealed 
in their Vedas and Sastras. In both he 
made quick and extraordinary progress ; 
and his singular talents did not more en- 
dear him to liis preceptor, than his docili- 
ty, and the pensive, and even melancholy 
sweetness of his temper and manner. His 
new duties were not unpleasing or Tinsuit- 
ed to one of his indolent and contempla- 
tive temper. He possibly felt, at first, a 
holy horror at the pagan sacrifices, in 
which he was obliged to assist, and some 
reluctance to feeding consecrated cows, 
gathering flowers, cooking rice, and draw- 
ing water for offerings and libations ; but 
by degrees he reconciled his conscience to 
these occui:iations, and became attached to 
his Gooroo, and interested in his philo- 
sophical studies. He would have been 
hajjpy, in short, but for certain uneasy 
sensations of fear and self-reproach, wliii h 
he vainly endeavoured to forget or reason 
down. 

Abul Fazil, who dreaded not his indis- 
cretion or his treachery, but his natural 
sense of rectitude, which had yielded re- 
luctantly, even to the command of Akbar, 
maintained a constant intercourse with 
him by means of an intelligent mute, who, 
hovering in the vicinity of Benares, some- 
times iu the disguise of a fisherman, some- 
times as a coolie, was a continual spy upon 
all his movements : and once in evei'v 
month, when the moon was in her dark 
quarter, Govinda met him secretly, and ex- 



THE FALSE ONE. 



!) 



c-lianged commiiuicatious with his brother. 
The Brahman Sarma was I'ieh ; he was 
promt of his high caste, his sinritual office, 
and his learning ; he was of tlie tribe of 
Narayna, which for a thousand years liad 
tilled the offices of joriesthood, without de- 
scending to any meaner occupation, (U- 
mingling blood with any inferior caste. 
He maintained habitually a cold, austere, 
and diguirted calmness of demeanour ; and 
flattered himself, that he had attained that 
state of perfect indift'erence to all worldly 
things, which, according to the Brahmin- 
ical ijhiloso25hy, is the highest point of 
human virtue ; but, though simple, grave, 
and austere in his personal haliits, he lived 
with a splendour becoming his reiiutation, 
his high rank, and vast possessions. He 
exercised an almost jirincely Jiospitality ; 
a hundred mendicants were fed morning 
and evening at his gates. He founded and 
sujjported colleges of learning fen- the ])oor- 
er Bralimans, and had numerous pupils, 
who had come from all jiarts of India to 
study under his direction. These were 
lodged in separate buildings. Only Go- 
vinda, as the adopted son of Sarma, dwelt 
under the same roof with his Gooroo, a 
privilege which had unconsciously become 
most precious to his heart ; it removed him 
from the constrained companionshij) of 
those he secretly despised, and it placed 
hiui in delicious and familiar intercourse 
with one, who had become too dearly and 
fatally beloved. 

Tlie Biahman had an only child, the 
daughter of his old age. She had l>cen 
named, at her birth, Priyamvada ; (or soflli/ 
sjimikiiiff ;) but her comiianions called her 
Amra, the name of a graceful tree bearing 
blossoms of peculiar beauty and fragrance, 
with which the C'anideo (Indian Cupid) is 
said to tip his arrows. AnirS, was V)ut a 
child when Goviuda entered the dwelling 
of Ilia precei^tor ; but as time passed on, 
she exjjanded beneatn his eye into beauty 
and maturity, like the lovely and odorifer- 
ous flower, the name of which she bore. 



The Hindoo women of siiperior rank 
and unmixed caste are in general of di- 
minutive size ; and accordingly the lovely 
and high-born Amra was formed upon the 
least possil)le scale of beauty ; but her lig- 
: ure, though so exquisitely delicate, had all 
the flowing outline and rounded jirofjor- 
tions of complete womanhood. Her fea- 
tures were perfectly regular, and of almost 
infantine minuteness, except her eyes ; 
j those soft oriental eyes, not sparkling, or 
often animated, but large, dark, and lus- 
trous ; as if in their calm depth of expres- 
sion slept unawakened jjassions, like the 
bright deity Heri rejiosing upon the coiled 
serpent. Her eyebrows were finely arched, 
and most delicately pencilled ; her com- 
plexion, of a jiale and transjiarent olivi=, 
was on the slightest emotion suffused with 
a tint, which resembled tliat of the crim- 
son water-lily as seen through the tremu- 
lous wave ; her lips were like the buds of 
the Camidata, and unclosed to display a 
row of teeth like seed-jiearl of Manar. 
But one of her ijrincijial charms, because 
peculiar and unequalled, was the beauty 
and redundance of her hair, which in color 
and texture resembled black floss silk, and, 
when released from confinement, flowed 
downwards over her whole person like a 
veil, and swept the ground. 

Such was Amra ; nor let it be sufJiJosed, 
that so perfect a form was allied to a mere- 
ly passive and childish mind. It is on 
record, that, until the invasion of Hindo- 
stan by the barbarous Moguls, the Indian 
women enjoyed tou)i)arative freedom ; it 
is only sini'C the occupation of the countrv 
liy the Europeans, that they have been 
kept in entire seclusion. A plurality of 
wives was discouraged by their laws ; and, 
among some of the triVies of Brahmans, it 
was even forbidden. At the period of our 
story, that is, in the reign of Akbar, the 
Indian women, and more particularly the 
Brahmanees, enjoyed much liberty. They 
were well educated, and some of them, 
extraordinary as it may seem, distinguish- 



10 



THE FALSE ONE. 



ed themselves in war find sovoi'nment. 
The Indian queen, Durgetti, whose history 
forms a conspicuous and interesting epi- 
sode in the life of Akbar, defended her 
kingdom for ten years against one of his 
most valiant generals. Mounted ujjon an 
elejiliant of war, she led lier armies in per- 
son ; fought several pitelied battles ; and 
being at length defeated in a decisive en- 
gagement, she stabbed hei-self on the field, 
rather than submit to her barbarous con- 
queror. Nor was this a solitary instance 
of female lieroism and mental energy ; and 
the effect of this fieedom, and the respect 
with which they were treated, aijpeared in 
the morals and manners of the women. 

The gentle daughter of Sarma was not 
indeed fitted by nature either to lead or to 
govern, and certainly had never dreamed 
of doing either. Her figure, gestures, and 
movements, had that softness at once al- 
luring and retiring, that indolent grace, 
that languid repose, common to tlie wom- 
en of tropical regions. 

" .\U her affections like the dews on rosea. 
Fair as the flowers themselves ; as soft, as gentle." 

Her sjiLrit, in its "mildness, sweetness, 
blessedness," seemed as flexible and unre- 
sisting as the tender Vasanta cree])ei\ She 
had indeed been educated in all the exclu- 
sive pride of her caste, and taught to re- 
gard all who were not of the privileged 
race of Brahma as frnngi (or impure) ; 
but this princijjle, though so early instill- 
ed into her mind as to have become a part 
of her nature, was rather passive tlian ac- 
tive ; it had never l)een called forth. She 
had never been brought into contact witli 
those, whose very look she would have 
considered as pollution ; for she had no in- 
tercourse but with those of her own nation, 
and watchful and sustaining love were 
all around her. Her learned accomjjish- 
ments extended no farther than to read 
and write the Hindostanee tongaie. To 
tend and water her flowers, to feed her 



birds, which inhabited a gaily gilded avi- 
ary in her garden, to string pearls, to em- 
broider muslm, were her emi^loyments ; 
to pay visits and receive them, to lie upon 
cushions, and be fanned asleej) by her 
maid, or listen to the endless tales of her 
old nurse, Gautami, whose memory was a 
vast treasure of traditional wonders — these 
were her amusements. Tliat there were 
graver occupations, and dearer pleasures, 
proper to her sex, she knew ; but thought 
not of them, till the young Govinda came 
to disturb the peace of her innocent bosom. 
She had liecu told to regard him as a broth- 
er ; and, as she had never known a brother, 
she believed, that, in lavishing upon him 
all the glowing tenderness of her young 
heart, she was but obeying her father's 
commands. If her Ijosom fluttered when 
she heard his footstej^s ; if slie trembled 
upon the tones of his voice ; if, while he 
was occupied in the services of the temple 
she sat in her verandah awaiting his return, 
and, the moment he ajiiJeared through the 
embowering acacias, a secret and unac- 
countable feeling made her breathe quick, 
and rise in haste and retire to her inner 
apartments, till he approached to pay the 
salutations due to the daughter of his jjre- 
ceptor ; what was it, what could it be, but 
the tender solicitude of a sister for a new- 
found brother ? But Govinda himself was 
not so entirely deceived. His boyliood 
had been passed in a luxurious court, and 
among the women and slaves of his broth- 
er's harem ; and though so young, he was 
not wholly inexperienced in a passion, 
which is the too early growth of an eastern 
heart. He knew why he languished in the 
presence of his beautiful sister ; he could 
tell why the dark splendour of Amra's eyes 
pierced his soul lilfe the winged flames 
shot into a besieged city. He could guess, 
too, why those eyes kindled with a softer 
fire beneath liis glance ; but the love he 
felt was so chastened by the awe which her 
serene purity, and tlxe dignity of lier sweet 
and feminine bearing shed around her ; so 



THE FALSE ONE. 



11 



hallowed by the nominal relationshiii in 
wliifli tliey thou stooil ; so diiJereiit, iu 
short, from any thing he hail ever felt, or 
seen, or heard of, that, ahandoued to all 
the swoet and dream-like ent-hantment of 
a bovish jjassion, Govinda vas scarcely 
conscious of the wishes of his own heart, 
until accident iu the same moment disclos- 
ed his secret aspirations to himself, and 
bade him forever despair of their accom- 
plishment. 

On the last day of the dark half of the 
moon, it was the custom of the wise and 
venerable Sarma to bathe at sunset in the 
Ganges, and afterwards retire to private 
meditation iiijon the thousand names of 
God, by the repetition of which, as it is 
written, a man insures to himself everlast- 
ing felicity. But while Karma was thus 
absorbed in holy abstraction, where were 
Govinda and Amrii ? 

In a spot fairer than the poet's creative 
pencil everw-rought into a jiicturefor fan- 
cy to dwell on ; where, at the extremity of 
the Erahman's garden, the broad and beau- 
tiful stream that bounded it ran swiftly to 
mingle its waves with those of the thrice- 
holy Ganges ; where mangoes raised their 
huge twisted roots in a thousand fantastic 
forms, -while from their boughs hung sus- 
pended the nests of the little Tinja birds, 
which waved to and fro iu the evening 
breeze ; there had Amra and Govinda met 
together, it might be, without design. 
The sun had set, the Cistus Howers began 
to fall, and the rich blossoms of the night- 
loving Kilica diflused their rich odour. 
The Peyoo awoke to warble forth liis song, 
and the tire-flies were just visible, as they 
flitted under the shade of the Champao 
trees. Upon a bank, covered with that 
soft and beautiful grass, which, whenever 
it is pressed or trodden on, yields a de- 
licious perfume, were Amra and Govinda 
seated side by side. Two of her attend- 
ants, at some little distance, were occupied 
in twining wreaths of ilowers. Amra had 
a basket at her feet, in which were two 



small vessels of jiorcelain. One contained 
cakes of rice, honey, and clarified butter, 
kneaded by her own hand ; in the other 
were :uangoes, rose-apjiles, and musk- 
melons ; and garlands of the holy jjalasa 
blossoms, sacred to the dead, were flung 
around the whole. This was the votive 
offering. a\ Inch Amra had ijrejiared for the 
tomVi of her mother, who was liuried iu 
the garden. And now, with her elbow 
resting on her knee, and her soft clieek 
leaning on her hand, she sat gazing iip at 
the sky, wliere the stars came flashing 
forth one by one ; and she watched the 
auspicious moment for oflering her i-iious 
oblation. But Govinda looked neither on 
the earth, nor on the slcy. What to him 
were the stars, or the flowers, or the moon 
rising in dewy splendour ? His eyes were 
fixed iipon one, who '\\as brighter to him 
than the stars, lovelier than the moon 
when she drives her antelopes through the 
heavens, sweeter than the night-flower 
which opens in her beam. 

•■ O Anna !" he said, at length, and while 
he spoke his voice trembled even at its 
own tenderness, "Amra ! beautiful ami 
beloved sister ! thine eyes are filled with 
the glory of that sjmrkling firmament ! the 
breath of the evening, which agitates the 
silky filaments of the Seris, is as pleasant 
to thee as to me ; but the beauty which I 
see, thou canst not see ; the power of deep 
joy, which thrills over my heart like the 
breeze over those floating lotuses — oh ! ^/;;,s 
thou canst not feel ! — Let me take away 
those pearls and gems scattered among 
thy radiant tresses, and rejjlace them with 
these fragrant and golden clusters of Cham- 
pac flowers ! If ever there were beauty, 
which could disdaiu the aid of ornament, 
is it not that of Amra ? If ever there were 
purity, truth, and goodness, which could 
defy the powers of evil, are they not thine? 
O, then, let others braid their hair with 
2:)earls, and bind round their arms the 
demon-scaring amulet, my sister needs no 
sjiells to guard her innocence, and cannot 



12 



THE FALSE ONE. 



wear a gem that does not hide a oharm !" 

The blush, which the beginuing of this 
passionate speech had called up to her 
cheek, was changed to a smile, as she look- 
ed down uj«)n the mystic circle of gold, 
which bound her arm. 

" It is not a tslisman," said she ; "it is 
the Tali, the nuptial bracelet, which was 
bound upon my arm when I was married." 

" M'irried .'" the word rent away from 
the heart of Govinda that veil, with which ' 
he had hitherto shrouded his secret hojies, 
fears, wishes, and atiections. His mute ; 
agitation sent a trouble into her heart, she j 
knew not why. She blushed quick -kind- 
ling blushes, and drooped her head. 

" Mai-ried !" he said, after a breathless 
pause ; "when ? to whom '! who is the jjos- 
sessor of a gem of such exceeding i^rice, 
and yet forbears to claim it V" 

She replied, " To Adhar, priest of In- 
dore, and the friend of Sarma. I was mar- 
ried to him while yet an infant, after the 
manner of our tribe." 

Then perceiving his increasing disturb- 
ance, she continued, hurriedly, and with 
downcast eyes : "I have never seen him ; 
he has long dwelt in the countries of the 
south, whither he was called on an impor- 
tant mission ; but he will soon return to 
reside here in the sacred city of his fath- 
ers, and will leave it no more. Why then 
should Govinda be sad ?" She laid her 
hand timidly ujjon his arm, and looked 
up in his face. 

Govinda would fain have taken that 
beautiful little hand, and covered it wilh 
kisses and with tears ; but he was restrain- 
ed by a feeling of respect, which he could 
not himself comprehend. He feared to 
alarm her ; he contented himself with fix- 
ing his eyes on the hand which rested on 
his arm ; and he said in a soft melancholy 
voice, " When Adhar returns, Govimla will 
be forgotten." 

"O never! never!" she exclaimed with 
sudden emotion, and lifting towards him 
eyes, that floated in tears. Govinda bent 



down his head, and p'ressed his lips upon 
her hand. She withdrew it hastily, ami 
rose from the gi-ound. 

At that moment her nurse, Gautami, ap- 
proached them. " 3Iy child," said she, in 
a tone of reproof, "dost thou yet linger 
here, and the auspicious moment almost 
jjast? If thou delayest longer, evil de- 
mons will disturb and consume the pious 
oblation, and the dead will frown upon 
the abandoned altar. Hasten, my daugh- 
ter ; take up the basket of offerings, and 
walk lief ore us." 

Amril, trembling, leaned upon her maid, 
and prepared to obey ; but when she had 
made a few steps, she turned back, as if to 
salute her brother, and repeated in a low 
emjihatic tone the word " Ncrer " — then 
turned away. Govinda stood looking af- 
ter the group, till the last wave of their 
white veils disappeared ; and listened till 
the tinkling of their silver anklets could 
no longer be distinguished. Then he start- 
ed as from a dream ; he tossed his arms 
above his head he flung himself upon the 
earth in an agony of jealous fury ; he gave 
way to all the pent-ujj jjassions, which had 
been for years accumulating in his heart. 
All at once he rose ; he walked to and fro; 
he stojiped. A hojie had darted into his 
mind, even through the gloom of despair. 
" P'or what," thought he, "have I sold 
myself ? For riches ! for honour ! for jiow- 
er ! Ah ! what are they in such a moment V 
Dust of the earth, toys, empty breath ! 
For what is the word of the Great King 
pledged to me ? Has he not sworn to re- 
fu.se me nothing ? All that is most jjre- 
cious between earth and heaven, fi'om the 
mountain to tlie sea, lies at my choice ! 
One word, and she is mine ! and I hesitate? 
Fool ! she shall be mine !" 

He looked ii]) towards heaven, and mark- 
ed the places of the stars. "It is the ap- 
pointed hour," he muttered, and cautious- 
ly his eye glanced around, and he listened; 
but all was solitai-y and silent. Ha then 
stole along the path, which led through a 



THE FALSE ONE. 



13 



thick grove of Cadam trees, intermingled I 
w itli the tall points of the Cusa grass, that ] 
sliieldod him frt)m all observation. He 
came at last to a little promontory, where 
tlip river we have mentioned threw itself j 
info the Ganges. He had not heen there ' 
above a minute, when a low whistle, like! 
the note of the t'haoora, was heard. A 
.small boat rowed to the shore, and Sahib 
stood before him. Quiek of eye and ap- ' 
prehension, the mute perceived instantly 
that something unusual had occjirred. — 
He pointed to the skiff ; but Govinda \ 
sliook his head and made signs for a light 1 
and the writing imjilements. They were ; 
quickly brought ; and while Sahib held 
the lamj), so that its light was invisible to 
the opposite shore, (iovinda wrote, in the ! 
peculiar cijiher they had framed for that 
purjjose, a few words to his brother, sufM- 
ciently intelligible in their import, though 
dictated by the imjiassioned and tumul- 
tuous feelings of the moment. When he 
had finished, he gave the letter to Sahib, 
who concealed it carefully in the folds of 
his turban, and then, holding up the fin- 
gers of both hands thrice over, to intimate 
that in thirty days he would bring the an- 
swer, he sprung into the boat, and was 
soon lost under the mighty shadow of the 
trees, which stivtched their huge boughs 
over the stream. : 

(xovinda slowly returned ; but he saw I 
Amrii no more that night. They met next ; 
day and the next ; but Amra was no longer ' 
the same ; she was silent, pensive ; and 
when pressed or relinked, she became tear- j 
fnl and even sullen. She was always seen 
with her faithful Gautami, upon whose 
arm she leaned droopingly, and hung her 
head like her own neglected flowers. Go- 
vinda was almost distracted ; in vaiu he 
watched for a moment to sj^ieak to Amra 
alone ; the vigilant Gautami seemed re- 
solved that they should never meet out of 
her sight. Sometimes he would raise his 
eyes to her as she jiassed, with such a look 



of tender and sorrowful reproach, that Am- 
ra would turn away her face and weep ; 
but still she spoke not ; and never re- 
turned his respectful salutation farther 
than by inclining her head. 

The old Brahman perceived this change 
in his beloved daughter ; but not for some 
time ; and it is probable, that, being 
deeply absorbed in his spiritual office and 
sublime Kjieculations, he would have had 
neither leisure nor penetration to discover 
the cause, if the susjiicions of the careful 
Gautami had not awakened his attention. 
She ventured to suggest the proj)riety of 
hastening the return of his daughter's be- 
trothed husband ; and the Brahman, hav- 
ing taken her advice in this particular, 
rested satisfied ; persuading himself, that 
the arrival of Adhar would be a certain 
and all-sufficient remedy for the dreaded 
evil, which in his simplicity he had never 
contemplated, and could scarcely be made 
to comprehend. 

A month had thus j^assed away, and 
again that aj^poiuted day yame round, on 
which Govinda was wont to meet his 1 iroth- 
er's emissary ; even on ordinary occasions 
he could not anticiiiato it without a thrill 
of anxiety, — now every feeling was wrought 
up to agony ; yet it was necessary to con- 
trol the slightest sign of impatience, and 
wear the same external guise of calm, sub- 
dued self-jjossession, though every vein 
was burning with the fever of susjiense. 

It was the hour when Sarma, having 
risen from his mid-day sleep, was accus- 
tomed to listen to Govinda while he read 
some appointed text. Accordingly Go- 
vinda ojiened his Tiook, and standing be- 
fore his i^receptor in an attitude of pro- 
found humility, he read tlius : — 

" Ciaruha asked of the Crow Bushanda, 
' What is the most excellent of natnral 
forms ? the highest good ? the chief jiain ? 
the dearest pleasure ? the greatest wick- 
edness ? the severest punishment ? ' 

"And tlie Crow Bushanda answered 



14 



THE FALSE ONE. 



him : ' In the tliree words, emi)yreal, ter- 
restial, ami infernal, no form excels the 
liumau form. 

" 'Supreme felicity, on earth, is found 
in the conversation of a virtuou.s friend. 

'• ' The keenest pain is inflicted by ex- 
treme poverty. 

"'The worst of sins is nncharitaV)le- 
nesK ; and to the uncharitable is awarded 
the severest punishment ; for while the 
despisers of their spiritual guides shall 
live for a thousand centuries as frogs, and 
those who contemn tlie Erahmans as ra- 
vens, and those who scorn otlier men as 
blinking bats, the uncharitable alone shall 
be condemned to the profoundest hell, and 
their punishment shall last for ever." ' * 

(jovinda closed his book ; and the old 
Brahman was proceeding to make elabo- 
rate comment on this venerable text, when, 
looking up in tlie face of his pujiil, he per- 
ceived tliat he was pale, abstracted, and 
apparently unconscious that he was sjieak- 
ing. He stopped ; lie was about to rebuke 
him, but he restrained liimself ; and after 
reflecting for a few moments, he command- 
ed the youth to luejiare for the evening 
sacrifice ; V)ut first he desired him to sum- 
mon Amra to her father's presence. 

At this unusual command Govinda al- 
most started. He dejjosited the sacred 
leaves in his bosom, and, witli a beating 
heart and trembling stcjjs, i>repared to 
obey. When he reached tlie door of the 
zenana, he gently lifted the silken curtain 
wliicli divided the apartments, and stood 
fur a few moments contemplating, with 
silent and sad delight, the grouji tliat met 
his view. 

Amra was reclining upon cushions, and 
looking wan as a star that fades away be- 
fore tlie dawn. Her h. ad drooped upon 
her bosom, her hair hung neglected upon 
her shoulders ; yet was she lovely still ; 
and (rovinda, while he gazed, remembered 
the words of the poet Calidas : " The wa- 
ter-lily, though dark moss may settle on 
* Vide the Heetopadessa. 



its head, is nevertheless beautiful ; and 
the moon, with dewy beams, is rendered 
yet brighter by its dark si^ots. " She was 
clasping round her delicate wrist a brace- 
let of gems ; and when she observed, that 
ever as she placed it on her attenuated arm 
it fell again ujion her hand, she shook her 
head and smiled mournfully. Two of her 
maids sat at her feet occupied in their em- 
broidery ; ami old Gautami, at her side, 
was relating, in a slow, monotonous recit- 
ative, one of her thousand tales of wonder, 
to divert the melancholy of her young mis- 
tress. She told how the demi-god Ivama 
was forced to flee from the demons who 
had usurped his throne, and how his beau- 
tiful and faithful Seita wandered over the 
whole earth in search of her consort ; and, 
being at length overcome with grief and 
fatigue, she sat down in the pathless wil- 
derness and wept ; and how there arose 
from the spot, where her tears sank warm 
into the earth, a fountain of boiling water 
of exquisite clearness and wondrous vir- 
tues ; and how maidens, who make a pil- 
grimage to this sacred W(>11 and dip their 
veils into its wave with pure devotion, 
insure themselves the utmost felicity in 
marriage ; thus the storj ran. Amrsi, who 
appeared at fii'st abstracted and inatten- 
tive, began to be afl'ected by the misfor- 
tunes and the love of the beautiful Seita ; 
and at the mention of the fountain and its 
virtues, she lifted her eyes with an expres- 
sion of eager interest, and met those of 
Govinda fixed ujion her. She uttered a 
faint cry, and threw herself into the arms 
of Gautami. He hastened to deliver the 
commands of liis precejitor, and then Am- 
lil, recovering lier self-possession, threw 
her veil round her, arose and followed 
him to her father's presence. 

As they drew near together, the old man 
looked from one to the other. Perhaps 
his heart, though dead to all human pas- 
sions, felt at that moment a touch of pity 
for the youthful, lovely, and loving pair 



THE FALSE ONE. 



15 



who stood before Lim ; but liis look was 
calm, cold ami serene, as usual. 

"Draw near, my son," lie said; "and 
thou, my beloved daughter, ajiproach, and 
listen to the will of your father. The time 
is come, when we must make ready all 
tilings for the arrival of the wise and hon- 
oured Adhar. jNIy daughter, let those pi- 
ous ceremonies, with which virtuous wom- 
en prejiare themselves ei'e they enter the 
dwelling of their husband, be duly jier- 
formed ; and do thou, Govinda, son of my 
choice, set my household in order, tha^ all 
may be in readiness to receive with hon- 
our the bridegroom who comes to claim 
his betrothed. To-moiTOW we will sacri- 
fice to Ganesa, w-ho is the guardian of 
travellers ; this night must be given to 
penance and holy meditation. Amra re- 
tii-e ; and thou, Govinda, take up that 
fagot of Tulsiwood, with the rice and the 
flowers for the evening oblation, and fol- 
low me to the temple." So saying, the 
old man turned away hastily ; and with- 
out looking back, pursued his path through 
the sacred grove. 

Alas for those he had left liehind ! Go- 
vinda remained silent and motionless. — 
Amra would have obeyed her father, but 
her limbs refused theii- office. She trem- 
bled — she was sinking ; she timidly looked 
uj) to Govinda as if for support ; his arms 
w ere extended to receive her ; she fell 
upon his neck, and wept unrestrained 
tears. He held her to his bosom as though 
he would have folded her into his inmost 
heart aud hidden her there for ever. He 
murmured passionate w'ords of transport 
aud fondness in her ear. He drew aside 
her veil from her pale brow, and ventured 
to print a kiss upon her closed eyelids. 
"To-night," he whispered, " in the grove 
of mangoes by the river's bank !" She 
answered only by a mute caress ; and then 
supporting her stejjs to her own ajiart- 
ments, he resigned her to the arms of her 
attendants, and hastened after his 2:)recei3- 
tor. He forgot, however, the materials for 



' the evening sacrifice, and in consequence 
not only had to suffer a severe rebuke from 

1 the old prict, but the infliction of a pen- 
ance extraordinary, which detained him iu 
the presence of his preceptor till the night 
was far advanced. At lengtli, however, 
Sarma retired to holy meditation and men- 
tal abstraction, and Govinda was dis- 
missed. 

He had hitherto maintained, with habit- 
ual and determined self-command, that 

, calm, subdued exterior, which becomes a 
l)npil iu the presence of his religious teach- 
er ; but no sooner had he crossed the 
threshold, and found himself alone breath- 
ing the free night-air of heaven, than the 
smothered jiassions liurst forth. He paus- 

; ed for one moment to anathematise in his 
soul the Sastras aud their contents, the 

j gods aud their temples, the priests and 
the sacrifices ; the futOe ceremonies and 

j profitless suffering to which his life was 

j abandoned, and the cruel policy to which 

' he had been made an unwilling victim. 
Tlien he thought of Amra, and all things 
connected with her changed their asjiect. 

j In another moment he was beneath the 
shadow of the mangoes on the river's brink. 
He looked round, Amra was not there ; he 
listened, there was no sound. The grass 
bore marks of ha\ ing been recently jiressed 
and still its perfume floated on the air. A 
few flowers were scattered round, fresli 
gathered, and glittering with dew. Go- 
vinda wrang his hands in despair, and 
flung himself upon the bank, where a 
month Ijefore they had sat together. On 

! the very spot where Amra had reclined, he 
perceived a lotos-leaf and a palasa flower 
laid together. Upon the lotos-leaf he 
could perceive written, with a thorn or 

[ some sharp point, the word Amka ; and 

I the crimson palasa-buds were sacred to the 
dead. It was sutficicnt ; he thrust the leaf 
and the flowers into his bosom; and "swift 
as the .sparkle of a glancing star," he flew 
along the path whith led to the garden 
sepulchre. 



16 



THE FALSE ONE. 



The mother of AmrS, had died in giving 
birth to her only child. She was young, 
lieautiful and virtuous ; and had lived hap- 
pily with her husband notwitlistanding 
the disparity of age. The jiride and stoi- 
cism of his caste would not allow him to 
betray any violence of grief, or show his 
atl'pction for the dead, otherwise than by 
raising to her memory a beautiful tomb. 
It consisted of four light pillars, richly 
and grotesquely carved, supporting a rich 
pointed cupola, beneath which was an al- 
tar for oldations ; the whole was overlaid 
with brilliant white stucco, and glittered 
thi-ough the gloom. A flight of steps led 
up to this edifice ; upon the highest step, 
and at the foot of the altar, Ami^S, was seat- 
ed alone and weeping. 

Love — O love ! what have I to do with 
thee ? How sinks the heart, how trembles 
the hand as it apjiroaches the forbidden 
theme ! Of all the gifts the gods have 
sent ui)ou the earth thou most precious — 
yet ever most fatal ! As serpents dwell 
among the o<lorons boughs of the sandal- 
tree, and alligators in the thrice sacred 
waters of the (ianges, so all that is sweet- 
est, holiest, dearest iipon earth, ia mixed 
up with sin, and pain, and misery and 
t'\ il ! Thus hath it lieen ordained from 
the beginning ; and the love that hath 
never mourned, is not love. 

How sweet, yet how terrible, were the 
moments that succeeded ! While Ciovinda, 
with fervid eloquence, poured out his whole 
soul at her feet, Amra alternately melted 
with tenderness, or shrunk with sensitive 
alarm. When he darkly intimated the ir- 
resistible power lie possessed to overcome 
all obstacles to their union — when he spoke 
with certainty of the time when she should 
be his, spite of the world and men — when 
lie described the glorious height to which 
his love would elevate her — the delights 
and the treasures he wouhl lavish around 
her, she, indeed, understood not his words; 
yet, with all a woman's trusting faith in 
him she loves, she hung upon his accents 



— listened and believed. The high and 
passionate energy, wiili which his spirit, 
so long pent up and crushed within him, 
now revealed itself ; the consciousness of 
his own power, the knowledge that he was 
beloved, lent such a new and strange ex- 
pression to his whole aspect, and touched 
his fine form and features with such a 
proud and sparkling beauty, that AmA 
looked up at him with a mixture of aston- 
ishment, admiration, and deep love, not 
wholly unmingled with fear ; almost be- 
lieving, that she gazed ujjon some more than 
mortal lovei', upon one of those bright 
genii, who inhabit the lower heaven, and 
have been known in the old time to leave 
their celestial haunts for love of the earth- 
born daughters of beauty. 

Amra did not speak, but Govinda felt 
his power. He saw his advantage, and, 
with the instinctive subtlety of his sex, he 
pursued it. He sighed, he wept, he im- 
plored, he upbraided. AmA, overpower- 
ed by his emotion and her own, had turned 
away her head, and embraced one of the 
pillars of her mother's tomb, as if for pro- 
tection. In accents of the most plaintive 
tenderness she entreated him to leave her 
— to spare her — and even while she spoke, 
her arm relaxed its hold, and she was yield- 
ing to the gentle force with which he en- 
deavoured to draw her away ; when at this 
moment, so dangerous to both, a startling 
sound was heard — a rustling among the 
bushes, and then a soft low whistle. Go- 
vinda started up at that well-known signal, 
and saw the head of the mute appearing 
just above the altar. His turban being 
green, was undistiiiguishable against the 
leafy background ; and his small black 
eyes glanced and glittered like those of a 
snake. Govinda would willingly have an- 
nihilated him at that moment. He made 
a gesture of angry impatience, and mo- 
tioned him to retire ; but Sahib stood still, 
shook his hand with a threatening exjires- 
sion, and made signs, that he must iu- 
stantlv follow him. 



THE FXLHE ONE. 



17 



AuiVii, meantime, who had neitlier seen 
nor heard any thing, began to suspect 
Govinda was eommnniug witli some in- 
visible spirit ; she clung to him in terror, 
and endeavoiired to recall Lis attention to 
herself bv the most tender and soothing 
words and caresses. After some time lie 
succeeded in calming her fears ; and with 
a thousand promises of quick return, he 
at length tore himself away, and followed 
through the thicket the form of Sahib, 
who glided like a shadow before him. 

When they reached the accustomed si>ot, 
the mute leapt into the canoe, which lie 
had made fa.stto the root of a mangoe-trec, 
and motioning Govinda to follow him, he 
jnished from the shore, and rowed rapiiUy 
till they reached a tall, bare rock near tlie 
centre of the stream, beneath the dark 
sliadow of which Sahib moored his little 
boat, out of the jiossible reach of human 
eye or ear. 

All had passed so quickly, that Go\-inda 
felt like one in a dream : but now, awak- 
ening to a sense of his situatiou, he held 
o\it his hand for tlie expected letter from 
his brother, trembling to learn its imjjort, 
upon which lie f.4t that more than his lite 
depended. Sahib, nieanNrhile, did not 
aijpear in haste to obey. At length, aftir 
a pause of breathless sus2)ense, Govinda 
heai'd a low and well-remembered voic<' 
repeat an almost-forgotten name : "Faizi !"' 
it said. 

"O Prophet of God I my brother !" and 
he was clasped in the arms of Abul Fazil. 

After the first transports of recognition 
had subsided, Faizi (it is time to use his 
real name) sank from his brother's arms t.i 
his feet ; he clasped his knees. " ^ly 
brother!" he exclaimed, "what is now to 
be my fate ? You have not lightly assumed 
this disguise, and braved the danger of 
discovery ! You know all, and have come 
to save me — to bless me ? Is it not so V" 

Abul Fazil could not see his brother's 
uplifted countenance, fiushed wifli the 
hectic of feverish im2-)atience, or his im- 



ploring eyes, that floated in tears ; but his 
tones were sufficiently expressive. 

"Poor boy!" ho said, compassionately, 
"I should have foreseen this. But calm 
these transports, my brotli.n- ! nothing is 
denied to the sultan's jjower, and uothiug 
will he deny thee. " 

" He knows all, then '?" 

"All — and by his command am I come. 

I had feared, that my brother had sold his 

1 vowed obedience for the smile of a dai-k- 

' eyed girl — what shall I say ? — I feared for 

his safety !'" 

" () my brother ! there is no cause !" 

•■ I know it — enougli ! — I have seen and 
heard !" Faizi covered his face with liis 
hands. 

"If the sultan " 

'Have no doubts," said Abul Fazil; 
"nothing is denied to the sultan's power, 
nothing will be denied to thee." 

" And the Brahman Adhar?" 

" It has been looked to — he will not 
trouble thee." ^ 

I •' Dirii/? O merciful Allah ! crime upon 
I crime !" 

" His life is cared for," said Abul Fazil 
calmly : "ask no more." 

" It is sufficient. O my brother ! O 
Amra ! — " 

I " She is thine ! — Now hear the will of 
Akbar. " Faizi bowed his head with sub- 
lui.ssion. "Speak!" he said, "the slave 
of Akbar listens." 

"In three months frmn this t:me," con- 
tinued Abul Fazil. " uiul on this appointed 
j night, it v.ill be dark, and the ii.agodas de- 
serted. Theu, and not till tlien, will Sa- 
hib b(> found at the accustomed sj^ot. He 
will bring in t'.ie skill" a dress, wliich is 
the sultan's gift, and will be a snilicicut 
disguise. On the left banlc of the stream 
tliere will be stationed an amjile guard, 
with a cl.ise litter and a swift Arabian. — 
TIiou shalt mount the one, and in tlie oth- 
er sha'.l be i^laeed this fair girl. Then fly ; 
having first flung her veil ui)on the river 
to beguile pursuit ; the rest I leave to 



18 



THE FALSE ONE. 



thine own quick wit. But lot all be doue 
witli secresy and subtlety ; for the .sultan, 
thougli lie call refuse thee nothing, would 
not willingly eonimit an ojien wrong 
against a i^eople he has lately conciliated ; 
and the violation of a Brahmineo woman 
were enough to raise a province." 

"It shall not need," the youth exclaim- 
ed, clasping his hands: "she loves mo! 
She shall live for me — only for me — while 
others -weep her dead !" 

"It is well; now return we in silence, 
the night wears fast away." He took one 
of the oars, Faizi seized the other, and 
with some difficulty they rowed up the 
stream, keeiiiug close under the overshad- 
owing banks. Having reached the little 
promontory, they parted with a strict and 
mute embrace. 

Faizi looked for a moment after his 
brother, then sprung forward to the spot, 
where he had left Amra ; but she was no 
longer there ; apparently she had been 
recalled by her nurse to her own apart- 
ments, and did not again make her ap- 
pearance. 

Three months more completed the five 
years which had been allotted for Govin- 
da's Brahminical studies ; they passed but 
too rapidly away. During this time the 
Brahman Adhar did not arrive, nor was 
his name again uttered ; and Amra, restor- 
ed to health, was more than ever tender 
and beautiful, and more than ever beloved. 

The old Brahman, who had hitherto 
maintained towards his jjupil and adopted 
son a cold and distant demeanour, now 
relaxed from his accustomed austerity, 
and when he addressed him it was in a 
tone of mildness, and even tenderness. 
Alas for Goviuda ! every proof of this new- 
ly-awakened affection pierced his heart 
with unavailing remorse. He had lived 
long enough among the Brahmans, to 
anticipate with terror the efi'ects of his 
treachery, when once discovered ; but he 
repelled such obtrusive images, and reso- 
lutsly shut his eyes against a future, whicli 



he could neither control nor avert. Ho 
tried to i^ersuade himself, that it was now 
too late ; that tlie stoical iiiditTerence to all 
earthly evil, passion, and suffering, which 
the Pundit Sarma taught and practised, 
would sufficiently arm him against the 
double blow preparing for him. Yet, as 
the hour approaclied, the fever of sus- 
l^ense consumed his heart. Contrary pas- 
sions distracted and bewildered , him ; his 
ideas of right and wrong became fearfully 
perplexed. He would have given the 
treasures of Istakar to arrest the swift # 
progress of time. He felt like one en- 
tangled in the wheels of some vast ma- 
chine, and giddily and irresistibly whirled 
along he knew not how nor whither. 

At length the day arrived ; the morning 
broke forth in all that sijlendoiir with 
which she descends upon "the Indian 
steep." Govinda ju'ejiared for the early 
sacrifice, the lust he was to perform. In 
sjiite of the heaviness and confusion which 
reigned in his own mind, he could per- 
ceive that something unusual occujjied the 
thoughts of his precej^tor ; some emotion 
of a pleasurable kind had smoothed the 
old man's brow. His voice was softened ; 
and though his lii^s were compressed, al- 
most a smile lighted up his eyes, when he 
turned them on Govinda. The sacrifice 
was one of unusual pomp and solemnity. 
in honor of the goddess Pavati, and lasted 
tUl the Sim's decline. When they re- 
turned to the dwelling of Sarma lie dis- 
missed his pui^ils from their learned exer- 
cises, desiring them to make that a day of 
rest and recreation, as if it were the festi- 
val of Sri, the goddess of learning, when 
books, pens, and paper, being honoured 
as her emblems, remain untouched, and 
her votaiies enjoy a sabl)ath. When they 
were dejiarted, the old Brahman com- 
manded Govinda to seat himself on the 
ground opposite to him. This being the 
Jirst time he had ever sat in the jiresence 
of his precejitor, the young man hesita- 
ted ; the Sarma motioned him to obey. 



THE FALSE ONE. 



19 



and accordingly he sat doN\ n at a respect- 
ful distance, keeping his ejes reverently 
cast iijion the ground. The old man then 
spoke tliese words : — 

" It is now five years since the sou of 
l\[itra entered my dwelling. He was then 
hut a child, helpless, orphaned, ignorant j 
of all true knowledge, ex])elled from the 
faitli of his fathei-s and the privileges of 
his 111 ;h caste. I took him to my heart 
with joy, I fed him. I clothed him, I opened 
Ids miml to truth, I poured into his soul 
the Hglit of kmiwledge ; lie became to me 
a son. If in anything I liave omitted the 
duty of a father towards liiin, if ever I 
refused to him the wish of his heart or 
the desire of his eyes, let him now sjteak I" 
•" () my father !" — 

'■ No more," said the ISralimaii, gently. 
"I am answered in that one word ; Imt all 
that I ha-, e yet done seems as nothing in 
mine eyes : for the love I bear my son is 
M ide as the w ide earth, and my bounty 
shall be as the boundless firmament. — 
Kunw that I liavc read thy miuI I Start 
not ! I have received letters from tlie 
south country. Anira is no longer the 
wife of Adhar ; for Adhar has vowed him- 1 
self to a life of penance and celibacy in 
the temple of Indore, by order of an of- 
fended jn-ince ; — may he find peace ! The 
writings of divorce are drawn iijj, and my 
daughter being already jiast the age when 
a jirudeut father hastens to marry his 
child, iu order that the .souls of the dead 
may be duly honoured by their posterity, 
I have sought for her a husband, sucli as 
a jiarent might desire ; learned in the sci- 
ences, graced with every virtue ; of un- 
blemished life, of unmixed caste, and rich 
in the goods of this world." 

The Brahman stojiped short. Faizi, 
breathing with ditiiculty, felt his blood 
pause at his heart. 

" My son !" continueil the old man, "I 
have not coveted jiossessions or riches, ; 
but the gods have blessed me witli pros- 
perity ; be they praised for their gifts 1 ' 



Look aiound ujion this fair dwelling, upon 
those fertile lands, which spread far and 
wide, a goodly prosjiect ; anil the herds 
that feed on them, and the bondsmen wlio 
cultivate them ; with silver and gold, and 
garments, and rich stores heaped up, 
more than I can count — all these do I give 
thee freely ; possess them ! and with them 
I give thee a greater gift, and one that I 
well believe is richer and dearer in thine 
eyes — my daughter, my last and best 
treasure ! Thus do I resign all worldly 
cares, devoting myself henceforth solely 
to pious duties and religious meditation : 
for the few days he has to live, let the old 
man repose upon thy love ! A little wa- 
ter, a little rice, a roof to shelter him, 
these thou shalt bestow — he asks no more." 

The lirahmau's voice faltered. He rose 
and < iovinda stood up, trembling in every 
nerve. The old priest then laid his hand 
solemnly upon his bowed head aud blessed 
him. "My son ! to me far better than 
many sous, be thou blest as thou hast 
blessed ine ! The just gods requite thee 
with full measure all thou hast done ! May 
the wife I Iiestow on thee bring to thy bo- 
som all the felicity thou broughtest to me 
and mine, and thy last hours be calm and 
bright, as those thy love has jjrepared for 
me !" 

" Ah, curse me not !" exclaimed Goviii- 
da, with a cry of horror ; for in the an- 
guish of that moment he felt as if the bit- 
ter maledictions, thus unconsciously jjro- 
nouuced, was already fulfilling. He flung 
himself ui)ou the earth in an agony of self- 
humiliation ; he crawled to the feet of his 
preceptor, he ki.ised them, he clasjied his 
knees. In broken words he revealed him- 
self, and c(uifessed the treacherous artifice 
of which he was at once the instrument 
and the victim. The Brahman stood mo- 
tionless,scarcely comprehending the words 
spoken. At length he seemed to awaken 
to the sense of what lie heard, and trem- 
bled from head to foot with an exceeding 
horror ; but he uttered no word of re- 



20 



THE FALSE OXE. 



proac!!! ; aiul after a pause, lie siiildeuly i 
drew the sacrificial poniard from his gir- 1 
die, and would have jduuged it into his j 
own bosom, if Faizi had not arrested his 
arm, and without diffii-ulty snatched the 
weapon from his shaking and powerless 
grasp. 

" If yet there be mercy for me," he ex- 
claimed, " add not to my crimes this worst 
of all — make me not a sacreligious mur- 
derer ! Here," he added, kneeling and 
opening his bosom, "strike ! satisfy at 
once a just vengeance, and end all fears in 
the blood of an abhorred betrayer ! Strike, 
ere it be too late !" 

The old man twice raised his hand, but 
it was without strength. He dropped the 
knife, and folding his arms, and sinking 
his head upon his bosom, he remained 
silent. 

" O yet !" exclaimed Faizi, lifting with 
reverence the hem of his robe and press- 
ing it to his lips, '■ if there remain a hope 
for me, tell me liy what penance— terrible, 
prolonged, and unheard-of — I may expiate 
this sin ; and hear me swear, that, hence- 
forth, neither temptation, nor torture, nor 
death itself, shall force me to reveal the 
secrets of the Brahmin faith, nor divulge 
the holy characters in which they are 
written ; and if I break this vow, may I 
perish from oil' the earth like a dog !" 

The Brahman clasped his hands, and 
turned his eyes for a moment on the im- 
ploring countenance of the youth, but 
averted them instantly with a shudder. 

" What have I to do with thee," he said 
at length, "thou serpent! Well is it 
written — ' Though the uiias-tree were wa- 
tered with nectar from heaven instead of 
dew, yet it would bear poison.' Yet 
swear — " 

" I do— I will— " 

" Never to behold my face again, nor 
utter with those guileful and ijolluted lips 
the name of my daughter." 

"My father!" 

" Father !" repeated the ohl man, with a 



flash of indignation, but it was instantly 
sul)dued. " Swear !" he repeated, " if 
vows can bind a tiling so vile !" 

" My father, I embrace thy knees ! Not 
heaven itself can annul the jjast, and Amrii 
is mine beyond the power of fate or ven- 
geance to disunite us — but by death !" 

" Hah !" said the Brahman,- stepjiing 
back, "it is then as I feared ! and this is 
well too !" — he muttered ; " Heaven re- 
quired a victim !" 

He moved slowly to the door, and called 
his daughter with a loud voice : Amra 
heard and trembled in the recesses of her 
ajjartments. The voice was her father's 
l)ut the tone of that voice made her soul 
sicken with fear ; and, drawing her dra- 
jjery round to conceal that alteration in 
her lovely form which was but too ajjpar- 
ent, she came forth with faltering steijs. 

" Approach !" said the Brahman, fixing 
his eyes upon her, while those of Faizi, 
after the first eager glance, remained rivet- 
ed to the earth. She drew near with af- 
fright and gazed wildly from one to the 
other. 

" Ay ! look well upon him ! whom dost 
thou behold ?" 

" My father ! — Ah ! s2Jare me !" 

" Is he your husband ?" 

" Oovinda I alas ! speak for us !" 

" Fool !" — he grasfjed her supplicating 
hands — "say but the word — are you a 
wife V" 

" I am ! I am ! Iiix, before the face of 
Heaven !" 

"No!" — he dropjied her hands and 
spoke in a rapid and broken voice : "No ! 
Heaven disclaims the monstrous mixture ! 
hell itself rejects it ! Had he been the 
meanest among the sons of Brahma, I had 
borne it, : but an Infidel, a base-born Mos- 
lem, has contaminated the stream of my 
life ! Accursed was the hour when he 
came beneath my roof, like a treacherous 
fox and a ravening wolf, to betray and de- 
stroy ! Accursed was the hour, which min- 
gled the blood of Narayna with that of 



,THE FALSE ONE. 



21 



Karayna with that of the sou of a slave- 
girl ! Shall I live to look upon a race of 
outcasts, abhorred ou earth and excom- 
muuicate from heaven, and say, ' These 
are the ofl'spring of Sarma ?' Miserable 
girl ! thou wert preordaiued a sacritice ! 
Die ! and thy infamy perish with thee !" 



the door of the zenana, from which no 
sound proceeded, now endeavouring in 
vain to win, by the most earnest entreaties, 
some sign of life or recognition from the 
old man — could no longer endure the hor- 
ror of his own sensations. He stepjjed 
into the open air, and leaned his head 



Even while he spoke he snatched up the against the porch. The breeze, which 
poniard which lay at his feet, but this he i blew freshly against his parched lijis and 



needed not— the blow was already struck 
home, and to her very heart. Before tlie 
vengeful steel could reach her, she fell, 
withovit a cry — a groan — seuseless, and, as 
it seemed lifeless, upon the earth. 

Faizi, almost with a shriek, sprang for- 
ward ; but the old man interposed ; and, 
with tlie strong grasp of supernatural 
strength — the strength of despair — held 
him back. Meantime the women, alarm- 
ed by his cries, rushed wildly in, and bore 



throVibing temjales, revived his faculties. 
After a few moments, he thought he could 
distinguish voices, and the tramj)ling of 
men and horses, borne on the night air. 
He raised his hands in ecstasy. Again he 
bent his ear to listen ; he heard the spLish 
of an oar. "They come!" he exclaimed, 
almost aloud, "one more plunge and it is 
done ! This hapless and distracted old 
man I will save from his own and other's 
fury, and still be to him a son, in his own 



away in their arms the insensible form of ^ despite. And, Amra ! my own ! my beau- 
Amrii. Faizi strove to follow : but, at a ] tiful ! my beloved ! oh, how richly shall 
sign fi'om the Brahman, the door was . the future atone for these hours of anguish! 
ijuickly closed and fastened within, so In thc^se arms the cruel pride and preju- 



that it resisted all his etibrts to force it. 
He turned almost fiercely — "She will yet 
live !"' he passionately exclaimed ; and the 
Brahman replied, calmly and disdaintully, 
■'If she be the daughter of Sarma, she 
will die !" Then rending his garments, 
and tearing ofi' his turliau, he sat down 
upon the sacrificial hearth : and taking up 
dust and ashes, scattered them on his bare 
head and flowing beard ; he then remained 
motionless, witli his chin upon his l)Osom, 
and his arms crossed upon his knees. In 
vain did Faizi kneel before him, and w ee]), 
and supjilicate for one word, one look ; he 
was ajiparently lost to all consciousness, 



dices of thy race shall be forgotten. At 
thy feet I will pour the treasiires of the 
world, and lift thee to joys beyond the 
brightest visions of youthful fancy. But 
— O mercifid Allah !" — 

At the .same moment a long, loud, and 
piercing shriek was heard from the wom- 
en's apartments, followed by lamentable 
wailings. He made but one bound to the 
door. It resisted, but his despair was 
strong. He rushed against it with a force, 
that burst it from its hinges, and preci2)i- 
tated him into the midst of the chamber. 
It was empty and dark ; so was the next, 
and the next. At last he reached the in- 



rigid, torpid ; and, but tliat he breathed, ner and most sacred ajjartment. He be- 
and that there w as at times a convulsive held the lifeless form of Amra extended 
movement iu his eyelids, it might have on the ground. Over her face was thrown 
been thought, that life itself was .susjiend- i an embroidered veil ; her head rested on 
ed, or had altogetlier ceased. i the lap of her nurse, whose features ap- 

Thus did this long and most miserable day ' peared rigid with horror. The rest of tlie 
wear away, and night came on. Faizi— | women, who were weeiiing and wailing, 
who had .s])eut the hours in walking to and ( covered their heads, and fled at Ids ai>- 
fro like a troxibled demon, now listening at I proach. Faizi called ui)on the name (■! 



22 



THE FALSE ONE. 



her lie loved ; he snatched the veil from I of the empire. All outward renown, proa- 

i^erity, and fame were hi.s ; but there was, 
at leasf, retributive justice in liis early 
and tragical death. 

Towards the conclusion of Akbar's reign 
Abul Fazil was .sent upon a secret mission 
into the Deccan, and Faizi accompanied 
him. The favor wliich these celebrated 
brothers enjoyed at court, their influence 
over the mind of the sultan, and their en- 
tire union, had long excited the jealousy 
of Prince Selim,* the eldest son of Akbar. 
and he had vowed their destruction. On 
tbeir return from the south, with a small 
escort, they were attacked by a nuniei'ous 
band of assassins, disguised as robbers, 
and both perished. Faizi was foiind lying 
upon the body of Abul Fazil, whom he 
had bravely defended to the last. The 
death of these illustrious brothers was la- 
mented, not only within the bounds of the 
empire, but through all the kingdoms of 
the East, whither their- fame had extend- 
ed ; and by the sultan's command they 
were interred together, and with extraor- 
dinary pomp. One incident only remains 
to be added. When the Ijodies were strij)- 



that once lovely face — tliat face which had 
never been revealed to him but in tender 
and soul-beaming beauty. He looked, and 
fell senseless on the floor. 

The anhaiijiy Auira, in recovering from 
her long swoon, had fallen into a stujior, 
which her attendants mistook for slumber, 
and left her for a sliort interval. She 
awoke, wretched girl ! alone, she awoke 
to the sudden and maddening sense of her 
lost state, to all the pangs of outraged 
love, violated faith, shame, anguish, and 
despair. In a paroxysm of delirium, when 
none were near to soothe or to save, she 
had made her own luxuriant and beauti- 
ful tresses the instrument of her destruc- 
tion, and choked herself liy swallowing 
her hair. 

When the emissaries of the sultan en- 
tered this house of desolation, they found 
Faizi still insensible at the side of her he 
had loved. He was borne away before 
recollection returned, placed in the litter 
which had been jjre])ared for AmrJl, and 
carried to Ferrukabad, where the sultan 
was then hunting with his whole court. 



What became of the old Brahman is not ped for burial, there was found within the 

inner vest of the Sheich Faizi, and close 
to his heart, a withered Lotos-leaf inscrib- 
ed with certain characters. Bo great was 
the fame of the dead for wisdom, learning, 
and devotiin, that it was supposed to be a 
talisman endued with extraordinary virtues 
and immediately transmitted to the sultan. 
Akbar considered the relic with surprise. 
It was nothing but a simple Lotos-leaf, fad- 
ed, shrivelled, and stained with blood ; 



known. He jjassed away like a shadow 
from the earth, " and his place knew him 
not." Wliether he sought a voluntary 
death, or wore away his remaining year's 
in secret penance, can only be conjectured, 
for all search was vain. 

Eastern records tell, that Faizi kept his 
])romise sacred, and never revealed the 
mysteries intrusted to him. Yet he retain- 
ed the favour of Akbar. by whose com- 



d he translated from the Sanscrit 1 l^"t on examining it more closely, he could 



tongue several i)oetical and historical 
works into the choii-est Persian. He be- 
came himself an illustrious poet ; and, 
like other poets of greater fame, created 
"an immortality of his tears." He ac- 
(piired the title of Slii'icli. or "the learn- 
ed," and rose to the highest civil offices 



trace, in ill-formed and scarcely legible 
Indian hitters, the word Amka. 

And when Akbar looked upon this ten- 
der memoi'ial of a hapless love, and undy- 
ing sorrow, his great heart melted within 
him, and he wept. 

* AfterwdTtls the tmperor .lehangire. 



THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 



Among the religions parables of the mid- 
dle a<;es, there is not one more fanfifnl and 
obvious in its application than the story 
of St. Christopher. But, although poeti- 
cal and significant as a parable, it becomes 
as a mere legend prosaic and puerile ; it is 
necessary to keep the lat(mt meaning in 
view while we read the story, and when we 
look upon the exremely picturesque reji- 
resentatious of the Canaanitish giaut ; for, 
(itlierwise, the peculiar superstition whicli 
has rendered him so popular and so imiJor- 
tant as a subject of art will lose all its in- 
terest. 

CUiristopher was of the land of Canaan, 
and the name hy which he was known was 
Otlero. He was a man of colossal stature, 
auil of a terrible aspect, and, being pmud 
of his vast bulk and strengtli, he was re- 
solved that he would serve no other than 
the greatest and tlie most powerful mon- 
arch that existed. So lie travelled far and 
wide to seek this greatest of kings ; and at 
length he came to ;he court of a certain 
monarch who was said to exceed in power 
and riches all the kings of the earth, and 
he offered to serve lum. And the king, 
seeing his great height and strength, — for 
surely, since the giant of Oath there liad 
been none like him, — entertained liim with 
joy. 

Now it haijpened one! day, as Clnisio- 
pher stood by the king in liis court, tliere 
came a minstrel who sang before the king, 
and in liis story there was fre(juent men- 
tion of the Devil, and every time the king 
heard the name of the evil spirit he crossed 



himself. Christoplier inquired the reason 
of this gesture, but the king did not an- 
swer. Then said Christopher, "If thou 
tellest me not, I leave thee !" So the king 
told him : "I make that sign to preserve 
me from the power of Satan, for I fear lest 
he overcome me and slay me. ' ' 

Then said Christopher, " If thou fearest 
Satan, then thou art not the most power- 
fu' prince in tho world ; thou hast de- 
ceived me. I will go seelc this Satan, and 
him will I serve ; for he is mightier than 
thou art. " So he departed, and he tr.av- 
elled far and wide ; and as Le ci'ossed a 
desert plain, he beheld a great crowd of 
armed men, and at their head marched a 
terrible and frightful being, with the air 
of a conqueror ; and he stopped Christo- 
jilun' on his path, saying, "Man where 
goest thou ■?" And Christopher answered, 
" I go to seek Satan, l)ec.iuse he is the 
greatest prince in the world, and him 
would I serve. " Then the other replied, 
"I am he : seek no farther." Then Chris- 
topher liowed down before him, and en- 
tered his ser\ice ; and tliey travelled on 
togetlier. 

Now, when they had journeyed a long, 
long way, they came to a place where four 
roads met, and there was a cross by the 
wayside. When the Evil One saw the 
cross he was seized with fear, and trem- 
bled violently ; and lie turned l)ack and 
made a great circuit to avoiil it. When 
Christoijher saw this he was astonished, 
and inquired, " Why hast thou done so ?" 
and tlie Devil answered nut. Then said 
Christopher, "If thou tellest me not, I 



24 



THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 



leave thee." So, being thus constrained, 
the flend replied, " UiJon that cross died 
Jesus Christ ; and ■when I behold it I 
must tremble and fly, for I fear him." 
Then Cliristoi^her was more and more as- 
tonished ; and lie said, " How, then ! this 
Jesus, ^\hom thou fearest, must bo more 
potent than thou art ! I will go seek 
him, and him will I serve !" So he left 
the Devil, and travelled far and wide, 
seeking Christ ; and, having sotight him 
for many days, he came to the cell of a 
holy hermit, and desired of him that he 
would show him Christ. Then the hermit 
began to instruct him diligently, and said, 
■' This king whom thou seek est is, indeed, 
the great king of heaven and earth ; but 
if thou wouldst serve him, he will impose 
many and hard duties on thee. Thou 
must fast often. " And Christoi^her said, 
" I will not fast ; for, surely, if I were to 
fast my strength would leave me." "And 
thou must i^ray !" added the hermit. Said 
Chri.stopher, "I know nothing of jn-ayers, 
and I will not be bound to such a service." 
Then, said the hermit, " Knowest thou a 
certain river, stony, and wide, and deej), 
and often swelled by the rains, and where- 
in many people perish who attempt to 
jiass over ?" And lie answered, "I know 
it." Then said the hermit, " Since thou 
wilt neitlier fast nor pray, go to that river, j 
and use thy strength to aid and to save 
those who struggle with the sti'eam, and 
those who are about to perish. It may be 
that this good work shall prove aocejitable 
to Jesus Christ, whom thou desirest to 
serve ; and that he may manifest himself 
to thee !" To which Christopher ^-ejjlied 
joyfully, " This I can do. It is a service 
that pleaseth me well !" So he went as 
the hermit had directed, and he dwelt by 
tlie side of the river ; and, having rooted 
up a palm-tree from the forest, — so strong 
he was and tall, — he used it for a staff to 
supi5ort and guide his steps, and he aided 
those who were about to sink, and the 
weak he carried on his shoulders across 



the stream ; and by day and by night he 
was always ready for his task, and failed 
not, and was never wearied of helping 
those who needed help. 

So the thing that he did pleased our 
Lord, who looked do« n ui)on him out of 
heaven, and said within himself, " Behold 
this strong man, who kuoweth not yet the 
way to worship me, yet hath found the 
way to serve me !" 

Now, when Christoiiher had spent many 
days in this toil, it came to jiass one night, 
as he rested himself in a hut he had built 
of boughs, he heard a voice which called 
to him from the shore ; it was the plaint- 
ive voice of a child, and it seemed to say, 
" Christopher, come forth and carry me 
over !" And he rose forihwith and looked 
out, but sa-v nothing ; then he lay down 
again ; but Ihe voice called to him in the 
same words, a second and a third time ; 
and the third time he sought round about 
with a lantern ; and at length he beheld a 
little child sitting on the bank, who en- 
treated him, .saying, " Chiustopher, carry 
me over this night." And Christopher 
lifted the child on his strong shoulders, 
and took his staff and entered the stream. 
And the waters rose higher and higher, 
and the waves roared, and the winds blew ; 
the infant on liis shoulders became heavier 
and still heavier, till it seemed to him that 
he mu.st sink under the excessive weight, 
and he began to fear ; but nevertheless, 
taking courage, and staying Iiis tottering 
steps with his palm-staff, he at length 
reached the ojiposite bank ; and when he 
had laid the child down, safely and gent- 
ly, he looked upon him with astonish- 
ment, and he said, " Who art thou, child, 
that hath placed me in such extreme peril? 
Had I carried the whole world on my 
shoulders, the burden had not been heavi- 
er !" And the child replied, "Wonder 
not, Christopher', for thou hast not only 
borne the world, but him who made the 
w-orld, upon thy shoulders. Me wouldst 
thou serve in this thy work of charity ; 



THE LEGEND OF ST. CIHKISTOPHER. 



and, beliolJ, I Iiave accepted thy service : 
ami in testimon}' tliat I have accepted thy 
service and thee, ph^nt thy staff in the 
ground, and it shall pnt forth leaves and 
fruit." Christopher did so, and the dry 
staff flonrished as a palm-tree in the sea- 
son, and was covered with clusters of 
dates, — but the miraculous child had van- 
ished. 

Then Christopher fell on his face, and 
confe.ssed and worshipj^ed Christ. 

Leaving that place he came to Samos, a 
city of Lycia, where he found many Chris- 
tians, who were tortured an<l persecuted ; 
and he encouraged and cheered them. 
One of the heathens struck him on the 
face ; l)ut Christopher only looked at him 
steadfastly, saying, "If I were not a Chris- 
tian, I would be avenged of that blow." 
The king of the country sent soldiers to 
seize him, and he permitted them to bind 
him and lead him before their master. 
The king, when he .saw him, was so tei-ri- 
tied by his gigantic stature, that he swoon- 
ed on his throne. When he had recover- 
ed, he said, " Who art thou ?" and he an- 
swered, "Formerly I was calli'd Offero, 
the bearer, but now my name is Christo- 
pher, for I have borne Christ." Then the 
king, whose name was Dagniis, ordered 
him to be carried to prison, and sent two 
women to allure him to sin, knowing that 
if he could be seduced to sin, he would 
soon be enticed to idolatrv. But Christo- 



I jjher stood finn ; and the women, being 
terrified and awed, fell down and woivship- 
ped Christ, and were both put to death. 
And the tyrant, finding it imjjossible to 
subdue or to temi)t the saint, commanded 
' him to be scourged and tortured, and tlieu 
! beheaded. And, as they led him to death, 
I he knelt down and prayed that those who 
I looked upon him, trusting in God the Re- 
deemer, .should not suffer from tempest, 
', earthquake, or fire. 

1 Thus did Christopher display the great- 
ness of his chanty, and the meekness of 
his spirit ; thus he sealed his faith with 
martyrdom ; and it was believed that, in 
consequence of his prayer, those who be- 
held the figure of St. Christopher were 
exempt during that day from all )ierils of 
I earthquake, fire, and flood. The mere 
sight of his image, that type of strength, 
was deemed sufficient to insjjire with cour- 
age those who had to struggle vith the 
evils and casualties of life, and to reinvig- 
orate those who were exhausted by tI;o 
labors of hu.sbandry. The following is 
one of the many inscriptions inculcating 
this belief, and which usually accomiJa- 
nied his effigy : — 

" CLristopht>n Sanrti spfciem qnirinnqiie luetur 
Illo namque die nuUo languore tt-netur." 

Which may be rendered, "Whoever shall 
behold the image of St. Christopher, on 
that dav shall not faint or fail." 



Tsrosyv m:.a.i>"^. 



THE PROFESSOR, 

BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 

[CURKER BELL,] 

AllTHdR OF "JANE EYKE," "SHIRIjEY," AND '• ■VTU^ETTE. '" 

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^NTOTAT I^OEJ-A-U'S'. 



T7XIE; IF'A.XjSES OnNTES, 



A.N I) 



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